The Stuff of Ballads
by MagicWords1
Summary: Father always thought he knew the direction my life would go. As a fourth son, I should be honored to become the new estate steward, but burying myself beneath a desk of paperwork and ledgers has never been my calling. I yearned for mountaintops and rivers, fire drakes and damsels...Adventures and good deeds. The stuff of ballads. -Oneshot-


A/N: Inspired by the song "I'm Still Here" by the Goo Goo Dolls, and of course, _The Last Knight_ by Hilari Bell

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><p><strong>The Stuff of Ballads<strong>

**by: MagicWords1**

A blood red sun sank over the hills of my father's estate as I cantered Chant up the path to Seven Oaks. It turned the sky a color only the empty countryside could help produce. Neither smokestack nor noxious odor of the city blanketed the atmosphere with its haze. Only the brushstrokes of leaves and the sculpted ramparts of the Sevenson manor house could skim it now.

'Twas a sight for sore eyes to see the magnificent keep all in one piece, though a sinking foreboding settled in my stomach when the solid doors at the top of the steps loomed into view beyond the rows of oak trees along the path. It'd been two years since I'd laid eyes on the home of my youth, and even if my heart did not soar with joy to set foot over its mighty threshold, I was grateful to be back in a familiar setting.

University had made an amateur scholar out of me, as Father had hoped it would. 'Twould be dishonest to say I'd hated it, but I'd more enjoyment visiting Chant in the stables and horse playing with the youths my age on the tourney grounds. Pouring over the contents of a desk had never been a passion of mine, nor did I ever discover a subject fascinating enough to enchant my attention. My older brother, Benton, had a knack for the drudgery, but I preferred the outdoors, the springtime air, the steady hum of nature constantly bringing a newness of life…

'Twas why I'd dreaded coming home. With the bare essentials of my education finished, Father would insist I settle down in some profession—and I already possessed a faint notion of what that profession might be.

After I'd ridden up to the foot of the keep, two grooms came to fetch Chant. I warned them of the old gelding's fragile leg, in case they'd forgotten during my absence, and then turned my sights to the manor door. Someone must have noticed my arrival, for my two elder brothers, Rupert and Justin, appeared at the top of the stone steps, looking much the same as they had the day I left.

Justin smiled wolfishly, while Rupert carried himself in a haughty representation of Father. Being the eldest son that he is, the impersonation was fitting, though somehow, his judging eyes made me feel smaller than the youngest Sevenson son. Nevertheless, I summoned a smile to greet them.

"Has the day finally come?" Justin bellowed, as though he were rehearing a line from a traveling player's performance. He looked to Rupert, a cunning twinkle in his eyes, when he added, "Has our baby brother finally grown into a sorry excuse for a man?"

I'm seventeen, but the wide age gap between my brothers and I has been a running quip in the Sevenson household since my birth—though I'd never found the jest something to laugh about. But after two years of deprivation, I assumed I owed my brother a favor.

"Surely I'm taller than last we met," I said, and climbed to meet them on the steps.

Rupert crossed his burly arms and looked me over critically. "You're as thin as a newly planted sapling, but yes, at least you've grown taller. There's still time to make a man of you yet." He then clasped my shoulder, the only brotherly gesture I'd ever known him to demonstrate.

Justin slapped my back, forgetting I was his brother and not some horse's rump. Rupert may have inherited father's stocky build, but Justin bore the strength passed down from countryman to son. My shoulder throbbed, and yet I grinned as they hustled me into the keep.

Under the glow of a candlelit chandelier and the heavy tapestries bearing the Sevenson coat of arms, my mother, father, and younger sister waited to acknowledge my return. In a house as drafty and old as Seven Oaks, 'tis hard to put on a warm welcome. Mother prefers hooped skirts no matter the occasion, and Father only smiles at the expense of others. Kathy, however, could abandon etiquette like a bandit on the run from the High Liege. Before mother could hiss a scolding, my sister threw herself into my arms.

"Michael!" she squealed.

"It can't be, Kathy!" I pushed her back at arm's length. Her pointy nose held up a brand new pair of shiny gold spectacles, and her wispy brown hair, as always, failed to obey the coils of her braid. Twelve years old and thin as a rail, she smiled up at me. "Look at you all grown up!" I boasted.

She would have twittered on about how she'd grown three inches in my absence, if Father hadn't ordered her back to her station first. 'Twas time I greet my parents. Mother held out a hand for me to kiss, and Father inspected me as though I was a stallion he might be interested in procuring. His eyes, though void of any warmth, shone with enough approval to quell my mounting nerves. He clasped my shoulders favorably.

"My son, my young scholar, welcome home."

I bowed my head in a gesture of respect, but more so to hide the guilt on my cheeks. Father need not know the finals grades of my studies. I'm an average pupil at best, with average marks and average criticism from my professors, none of whom suggested I stay on to complete any kind of master work. My time at the university had been spent sharpening the skills I'd learned from my local tutor—all in the interest of the profession that Father had, no doubt, already chosen for me.

At least Kathy was present to brighten my mood. It enhanced even more when my cousin Rosamund fluttered into the parlor.

"So sorry I'm late," she said with the air and enchantment of a distressed damsel. Her rose pink skirts twirled at her ankles as she fanned away any traces of blemish that capering into the room may have caused her skin; though no blemish I could see obstructed any beauty of her pretty face. Mayhap a few strawberry blonde ringlets had escaped the locks pinned to the back of her head, but 'twas far from imperfection.

My heart galloped against my chest. "Hello, Rosamund."

Her eyes lit up like a cut open sack of diamonds. "Oh, Michael, dear! I'd nearly forgotten you were arriving this evening." She pranced forward to kiss my cheek, and my knees buckled under the surprise. "You must tell me _all _about the university. Your letters only skimmed the surface of its delights."

"'Twould be an honor," I said, and detached myself from Kathy to offer up my arm. Rose's fingers were like silk petals over the worn and tattered sleeves of my traveling shirt. What I would have given to excuse us to the orchards for an evening stroll. Unfortunately, life in the Sevenson family moved to the sound of the gong, and a manservant arrived to inform my father that dinner was ready to be served.

The cavernous hall was set only for the members of my family, which meant no guests, the gods be thanked. Often, Father likes to make a production out of his sons' homecomings. Three years ago when Justin returned from an apprenticeship in Crown City, he invited half the county to a spectacular feast that I'm told the neighboring families still speak of with delight.

As it happens, I am the fourth and last son, and the completion of my basic schooling, which every noble's son must achieve, is no cause for celebration. The one honor I gained was the chair on my father's right hand side. Mother sat opposite me, with Rosamund next to her. Though I suspected Justin was assigned to sit at my right, Kathy managed to wriggle her way into the spot first, for which I was thankful.

Four courses broke the fast I'd taken to reach Seven Oaks before supper. A saddle of roast mutton, sided with a fresh turnip salad and a dollop of mashed potatoes followed a creamy potato soup I'd not had the pleasure of tasting since moving into the university. Next came a plate of turkey with mint sauce, and after we'd polished it to the bones, the servants arrived bearing crystal dishes of chocolate tart.

I ate mostly to divert discussion. I'd hoped my monthly letters would satisfy my family's curiosity toward my studies, but as I might've expected, Father wanted to know if university happened to teach me anything. I replied with politeness where 'twas due, but a bothersome heat grew in my stomach as Father continued to badger. Two years ago when Father insisted I take my studies across the Realm, he saw me off with the notion that he'd already decided the direction my life would go after I returned.

And as far as I could tell, it left no room for compromise.

Dinner had been delicious, but I found myself picking at my dessert. When the wine was served, conversation turned to Benton, who was halfway through his master work at Pendarian University. Then Rupert made a point to inform me how the livestock was faring, and that old Eldridge, Father's estate steward, was itching to retire before hog butchering season. I found the topic change so suspicious, that I looked to Father's face for a reaction. 'Twas from his proud expression I deduced Father must have instructed Rupert to purposefully mention matters of the estate, and my mood deepened.

"It seems we've all had our fill," said Father, once the dishes were carried away. "I suppose that's that. You must be eager to settle in, Michael. I've had the servants bring your trunks up to your room. They'll draw you a bath, and then when you're ready, I'd like to see you in my study."

'Tis a sin to waste time on an estate, even during a homecoming.

"Yes, Father," I said, then excused myself upstairs.

The bath was warm, the drying linens soft, but a sense of ill dread had yet to dissolve in my stomach. As I reacquainted myself with my old room, I happened to peel back the shutters to admire the seven oak trees the manor is named for. Unfortunately, my window always had an awful view of the moon, which shined above the orchards on the other side of the keep.

I sighed, then dressed in a simple pair of britches and a drab doublet. Father may have cause for ceremony, but I did not, and so I left for the study.

I knocked on the outer door to find Father bent over his desk reading a stack of reports—from old Eldridge, no doubt. He noticed my presence and summoned me inside. The room, as ever, brought little warmth or cheer. The carved desk had been a part of Seven Oaks since its founding, and Father had always preferred the old family tapestries rather than the new, adventure-telling weaves that Kathy and I had always admired. Wood walls gave way to velvet curtains. No view of the moon could be seen behind this glass, either.

At long last, Father dropped his quill, put down his spectacles, and sat up imperiously in his chair. He looked me over with a hint of displeasure, for apparently summons to his office is a greater cause for proper dress than I'd decided. I tried not to wriggle, but Father's stare is most disconcerting. I was no more than a baited worm on his hook, at this point.

"Well, Michael, I would wait for the morning to have a discussion of this nature, but 'tis desperate times on the estate," he began, in such a way I knew 'twas my duty to inquire further.

Squeezing my hands behind my back, I asked, "What seems to be the trouble, sir?"

"'Tis Eldridge. The man is ready to leave my employment, which leaves Rupert without an estate steward. The season is busy and the accounts must be maintained. As my son, 'tis only fitting you carry out the role for Eldridge, myself, and your brother. 'Tis a good job, and will give you high regard in the county. More so than a man in...less favorable circumstances."

More so than any other fourth son, he meant to say.

My palms began to sweat. So we'd come to it. To think I'd have a willy response prepared after so many nights dreading this moment, but alas, my mind came up helplessly blank. As they normally did during particularly boring lectures, my eyes veered to the window. In the crack between the curtains, I caught view of the rolling hills leading to the stables. If I were to mount Chant now, I could be at the river in minutes. 'Twas such an appealing idea, I'm surprised my feet did not take off running.

"Michael?"

I cleared my throat. Nerves shook my spine, but if I agreed to Father's terms now, 'twould all be lost. "'Tis a fine proposition, Father. But mayhap not the soundest offer?"

Father's gaze darkened. "And why not?"

"Because..." Thoughts of the river drew me. "Because a job of this nature requires desk work and dedication. I wish to travel first, Father. To see the Realm and all it has to offer."

"Travel?" asked Father skeptically. "You did hear me say that Eldridge wishes to retire, yes?"

"Yes, but I don't want his position. Mayhap you think me the likeliest candidate, but 'twould be dishonest of me to agree. I don't want to bury myself on the same estate I'd been born on. 'Tis not my calling."

"And you have other callings?" His voice had risen now. "Callings more important than the affairs of your county? Of your family?"

I began to feel the old feud rising in my throat, as bitter as bile and hot like rage. Before I left for university, Father and I held a similar discussion. For him, duty mattered beyond dreams and passions, neither of which I ever discovered during the course of my studies. Father had always hoped I'd find a sensible passion, like Justin found with arithmetic and Benton the ancients. Mayhap he'd hoped I'd become enraptured with clerk work, a profession I could easily handle, and yet...

My true passion rested beyond stone walls and drafty lecture halls. It waited outside where the air was crispest, the wind loudest. The best part about university, in my opinion, was galloping Chant beyond the school gates with no one to call me back. To ride without stopping and breathe in the cool autumn air, the spicy scent of crackling leaves...

But Father would never understand.

"Nothing matters more than my family, but you must understand, Father, I have no desire to spend my life behind a desk," I said, and Father's frown deepened.

"This may be the best offer you ever receive. You do not wish to continue schooling, nor have you better prospects. You would be a fool to refuse."

A fool, mayhap, but no better prospects? "If I settle now, I fear I'll never see the world," I said.

"And what is it you wish to accomplish during these travels?" Father nagged. "You studied on the other side of the Realm. Surely you have seen enough sights to quell your interest."

"Mayhap I've seen towns and cities from the roadside, but mayhap I want more than that. There are people outside the county who need help. Mayhap I might just do some good in the world."

"Good in the world?" Father repeated with a snort. "There is good to be done here. More so than you may believe. By the gods, Michael, you sound just as lunatic as some kind of fool knight errant. If you think you must travel out of the barony to _help people_, then mayhap you've learned nothing from your studies, after all."

Anger swelled inside me. Father had always taken me for some fanatical fool. I might be inexperienced in the ways of the world, but I did not think myself utterly ignorant. Mayhap I was, or mayhap my freedom felt stretched like some frayed rope. Taking orders from others and abandoning my dreams had never been a part of my nature, and from where he sat stewing in his own temper, I believed Father had always known it, too.

Had he also known his offer would be rejected? I knew not, but the words _fool knight errant _echoed in my head long after I excused myself from Father's study.

I felt like a wanderer now. If I refused the steward position, I would no longer be welcome to stay in my father's house. I had nothing but a lame horse and a few fracts left over from my savings, but 'twas enough for a true errant, was it not?

I stopped by the sewing room before I topped the stairs. My favorite tapestry hung within. Kathy and I had always admired it, for it depicted a gallant gentleman embarking on a noble quest to save a fair maiden from a fiery drake atop some old, abandoned mountaintop. Father had called it despicable when it arrived, and had it hung in the sewing room so he'd never have to see it. But to me, 'twas the stuff of ballads woven to perfection.

'Twas then I realized good did not have to come from bending over farm records or accounting for crops harvested. True good came from noble deeds, helping hands, and adventures no other soul had the spirit or guts to undertake.

I smiled, for 'twas then I understood my calling.

Without a backward glance, I left to find a sword.


End file.
